"That's an understatement," Gavin concurred.
Elliot let out another low whistle as he came up at my side and slipped his arm around my waist. Exhausted from the long journey, I laid my head against his shoulder and sagged into his embrace. A growl resonated against the polished marble, emanating from the vicinity of where Gavin stood.
I was too tired to get in the middle of the testosterone contest. Instead, I pulled away from Elliot and walked away from them both.
Drawn to a beautiful oil painting of the hotel's façade, I was leaning in for a closer look at the brush strokes around the windows when Jawbreaker tapped on my shoulder.
"I understand there's some conflict about the sleeping arrangements." When I only looked confused she explained. "Gavin and Kelly have requested separate rooms. Something about being just friends and Kelly's use of counter space. Do you and Phelps need separate rooms as well?"
Across the lobby I could see Gavin and Elliot glaring at each other from about ten feet apart. If looks could wound there'd be blood all over the pristine white floors.
I weighed my options.
To request separate rooms would be a clear indication that I didn't want to be with Elliot. Not necessarily meaning that I chose Gavin, but a definite message that I had
not
chosen Elliot. A choice I was not ready to make.
I couldn't make either decision without knowing more about both of them. Sharing a room—for a week instead of just a weekend—would definitely be enlightening. And if Gavin had a problem with my exploring my options then he could just go hang.
"No," I declared, "we're fine the way we are."
Jawbreaker nodded and turned to the front desk. I went back to studying the painting until I was again interrupted.
"And Lydia?"
I turned around at her uncharacteristically soft spoken question.
"I ... I apologize for snapping at you earlier." She massaged her temples wearily. "There's just so much going on and ... there's no excuse. I'm sorry."
Something about the despondent look on her tired face—shockingly bare of make-up, I noticed—made me ask, "Is something wrong?"
"No, n-nothing."
She protested, but the moisture in her eyes was unmistakable. When I laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder a single tear dropped from each eye.
"Carmello left me. He—" She wiped brusquely at the tears, smearing them into oblivion. "—he went back to his ex-wife."
"Janice," I soothed, her true name coming out without thought, "I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can—"
"No. It's fine. I just—" Patting my hand, she smiled gamely. "—He could have chosen better timing, is all. I'll be fine."
I watched in awe as she shook off the momentary display, strode purposefully across the lobby, and checked in. There weren't many women who could suffer a husband's leaving right before a gargantuan career event and rise to the occasion. I felt something tickling at my stomach that felt disturbingly like respect. For Janice. Jawbreaker! I meant Jawbreaker.
Sweet Saltwater Taffy, I hoped this was just indigestion from the airplane food. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I suddenly found respect for everyone I worked with.
Indigestion. That's it. I never should have eaten that
Risotto alla Milanese
. Rice can go bad, right?
The guest rooms were even more lavish than the lobby. Rich golds and lush velvets everywhere. Even the four-poster king-size bed had gold velvet drapes and gold quilted jacquard bedding. The gilding on the light fixtures alone must have cost more than my entire apartment.
Our baggage managed to beat us here and my Tumi stood empty in the antique armoire, the contents neatly folded into drawers and hung on smooth wooden hangers.
Never underestimate the value of five diamond service.
"Ready to see the sights, sugarcakes?"
Elliot came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and hugging me to his chest. His energy was boundless. Maybe I wasn't the only one needing to cut back on the sugar intake.
"No." I turned within the circle of his arms and slipped mine around his neck. "I need to rest before the shows begin. We still have almost an hour and I want to get a quick cat nap."
"Alright," he drawled, "but don't think you're getting out of a moped-driven city tour tonight."
I smiled at the exuberance in his sky blue eyes. "Just be sure and get a yellow one."
He grinned in return. "Daffy II."
Then, with a quick kiss to my forehead, he bounded out the door. Off to take Milan by storm, no doubt.
I stepped out of the driving mocs and padded over to the bed, lovingly caressing the sensuous duvet and testing the downy softness of the mattress. Sleep beckoned.
Before I could lift one knee a hesitant knock sounded at the door. Not Elliot, I knew. I didn't think he knew how to be hesitant. He took life by the horns in every situation.
Still, I shouldn't have been surprised when I swung open the paneled door to find Gavin standing in the hall.
"Hey," he offered in greeting.
"Hey back."
His eyes hovered over my shoulder, scanning the room behind me.
"He's gone," I answered the unvoiced question. "Sightseeing."
"Oh, well..." Gavin scuffed a perfectly polished oxford on the carpet and jammed his hands in his pockets. He looked like a recalcitrant schoolboy in his Brooks Brothers button down and Polo khakis. Golden hair a little mussed and guilt heavy in his bright green eyes. "I want to apologize for acting like a jerk. Earlier. In the lobby. In the limo."
"Accepted." Though I had expected a little more than this unnecessary apology when he showed up at my door. "Is that all?"
"No, of course not." Taking a deep, sighing breath, he shrugged and relaxed into a more casual, but undeniably confident stance. "If you don't have plans for tonight would you like to join me for dinner and maybe visit a museum. The
Pinacoteca di Brera
is only a few blocks away."
My eyes shot up and I held his gaze intensely.
He remembered. My favorite painting in all of history,
The Kiss
by Francesco Hayez, hung in that museum. How could he, two years later, still remember my favorite painting? And he had obviously gone to the effort of finding out where it lived.
A tiny, self-effacing smile lifted the corners of his mouth. As if ashamed to be caught being so thoughtful.
"That," I managed through the emotion swamping me, "would be wonderful."
"The last show ends at 5:30. Why don't we go to the museum straight from there and then to dinner after?"
I nodded. "Are you going to the show?"
"No, I have a couple of calls to make to New York. Time change and all that. Besides," he raked a hand through his hair and stepped back into the hallway, "you know I'm not much for the whole fashion thing."
This was an opportunity I couldn't resist.
"But Gavin," I cooed, "you
were
on the cover of GQ."
"A horrendous lapse in judgment. The firm's publicity rep owes me big time." He grinned, confidence and mischief sparkling in his eyes. "Need tickets to the Super Bowl?"
It felt like forever since I'd laughed with Gavin. Forever since he pulled back the reserved façade to let his inner class clown show. I was surprised to realize that I missed this.
"I'll let you know," I joked back.
We shared a smile. One that bridged a gap that had long kept us isolated. Different than the completely spontaneous and outrageous ones I shared with Elliot. One that felt like home.
He lifted his wrist and checked his Tag Heuer. "I'd better let you rest," he said as he backed down the hall towards his room two doors down. "I'll meet you in front of the
Fiero Pavilion
at 5:30."
"See you then."
I'd lost track of which new beginning this was, but it sure felt like a Whopper.
Now all I had to do was decide what to tell Elliot about my plans, because it was going to be hard keeping the emotion out of my voice when I told him I was spending the evening with Gavin.
"I never imagined how beautiful it would be in real life."
Though it had to be the millionth time I commented on the exquisite beauty of the Hayez painting, I couldn't help saying it again. And as we strolled along the narrow streets of a Medieval city, Gavin let me gush.
I wondered what Elliot would have thought of the
The Kiss
. Would he have been awed by the emotion in the lovers’ embrace? Or would he have turned to me and swept me into an embrace of our own? Maybe I would bring him to museum before we leave.
I also wondered how to tell him I’ve spent the evening with Gavin. Even though we are
not
committed, he has an endearing streak of jealousy. Especially where Gavin is concerned.
"If I could afford it," Gavin said, interrupting my thoughts, "I would buy it for you. Just so you could see it every day."
"Oh no," I exclaimed, horrified by the thought. "It should never leave this museum. The public needs it more than I do."
Gavin laughed at my adamant response.
"You were joking, weren't you?" I asked. Sometimes with Gavin I couldn't tell. He had a kind of humor that made you wonder if he was laughing with you, at you, or if he really laughed at all.
"If you want me to be." He batted his eyelashes in feigned submission.
When I stuck out my lower lip in a pout, he laughed and put his arm around my shoulder, deftly guiding us across
Via Broletto
and onto the sidewalk on the opposite side.
Gavin was the sort of man who always knew where he was going. In a new city. In a car. In life.
Navigation was not my strongest suit.
"I don't know how you know where you're going." I shook my head in wonder. "Do you ever get lost?"
"Not," he answered, distractedly reading the sign above a door on
Via Dante
, a street blocked off as a pedestrian area and strewn with sidewalk cafes and full of tourists and locals alike, "when I look at a map beforehand. This is it."
Gavin pulled open the unassuming, carved wooden door and ushered me inside. Down a flight of ancient tile steps we met a
maitre d'
with a pair of menus in his hands and a welcoming smile on his lips.
"Buona sera, Signore Fairchild. Come sta?" the maitre d' asked musically.
"Molto bene, grazie Carlo."
Gavin's fluent response surprised me. "I never knew you spoke Italian."
"There were a lot of things you never knew."
Carlo motioned for us to follow him. "I have saved you the very best table,
il migliore
. All is ready."
"Thank you Carlo."
After setting the menus on the small corner table, Carlo pulled out my seat. Gavin stepped around and took the chair and slid it in beneath me as I sat. With a quick nod and a smile of commiseration, Carlo disappeared.
"What is ready?" I asked as Gavin sat.
"A special order," he replied cryptically. Picking up the open bottle of local
Valpolicella
to his right, Gavin carefully poured two equal glasses. Lifting his glass, he indicated I should raise mine as well. "To Italy."
I smiled, holding my glass higher. "To Italy."
"And to you," he added, interrupting my first sip, "Lydia Ilene Vanderwalk. You are an amazing and beautiful woman."
Not knowing how to respond—I'm sure a woman with more social savvy would have said "Thank you" with grace and aplomb—I merely nodded and lifted the glass to my lips.
The meal was slow, in a leisurely and sensual way. Several minutes passed between each lavish course and the conversation never waned. I told Gavin about my promotion offer from Ferrero and my idea of starting my own jewelry line. He gave me advice, as both friend and businessman, for both options.
We never spoke about that night two years ago when I walked out of his life or that afternoon two weeks ago when I escaped out of his apartment.
Getting to know Gavin all over again was more like realizing that I had never known him at all.
"I didn't know you spent a summer in college volunteering at Sustainable Development International." I looked at him in a whole new light. "That must have been very rewarding."
He shrugged as if it meant nothing, but I could see in his eyes that he regarded that time very fondly.
"It was okay."
Yeah, if okay meant life-altering. "Where were you sent?"
"West Africa. Ghana mostly. Digging canals and planting soil-retaining vegetation in areas that suffer from soil erosion-induced droughts."
Rather than continue the conversation, Gavin looked around and caught Carlo's attention. A cryptic signal passed between the two and Carlo quickly disappeared into the kitchen.